


Jessica Knits the Marvel Universe

by Beguile



Category: Daredevil (TV), Iron Fist (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Luke Cage (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Addictive Personality, Alcoholism, Gen, Hobbies, Hugging (Almost), Jessica isn't happy about this, Knitting, Snark, So much Knitting, The Real Superpower Was Friendship All Along, gift-giving, lots of thank yous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 15:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beguile/pseuds/Beguile
Summary: “All the happiness in a kit,” the crumpled brown wrapping tells her. “Yeah, right,” Jessica scoffs, returning to her desk for another glass of all-the-happiness-in-a-bottle.Things spiral out of control from there.One-shot.





	Jessica Knits the Marvel Universe

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: the characters and concepts in this story are the property of Marvel and their related affiliates. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> The paper bag Jessica find on her doorstep and the kits she orders are products from the website We Are Knitters. Krysten Ritter is an avid knitter in real life and has helped to create kits for the site, which is ultimately what inspired this fic. 
> 
> This started as a writing sprint from before the new season of _Jessica Jones_ dropped and doesn’t reflect on much of anything from _Defenders_ except that the team knows each other. It’s intended to a softer, fluffier one-shot. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

            Jessica creeps back to her apartment one night to dodge another “How to Constructively Deal With Your Shit” seminar from Malcolm to find a paper bag outside her door. It’s addressed to the apartment upstairs, and fuck it. They want their damn package, the post office should have done their job better. Jessica grabs the bag, a little thrown by how light it is, and brings it inside, throwing it at her couch.

            She polishes off another glass of whiskey before inspecting it again. “We Are Knitters,” the bag informs her. “No, we aren’t,” Jessica snarls and tears into the contents. Hey, how was she supposed to know that it wasn’t hers? She gets paid to be an investigator, and nobody paid her to check the address even if she already did.

            Several balls of black yarn spill into her lap along with a pair of needles and a stack of papers marked with k-s and p-s and numbers. A pattern. Guess her upstairs neighbour was looking to make a scarf. A really big scarf. Jessica scoffs and chucks the yarn aside. She’ll bring it back tomorrow. Climb those fucking stairs and give her neighbours their stuff back. Apologize that Malcolm tore into it without checking the address.

            She gathers the contents of the bag. The yarn is soft and plush under her fingers. Jessica crumples it all together in the remnants of the bag from whence it came. “All the happiness in a kit,” the crumpled brown wrapping tells her. “Yeah, right,” Jessica scoffs, returning to her desk for another glass of all-the-happiness-in-a-bottle.

            Her own scarf oozes off the back of her chair over her bare shoulder. Thin and flimsy. Does nothing against the cold. A better mask than a scarf.

            Jessica raises a brow, lowers it. She pounds back another glass of whiskey and opens her laptop, finding she heads to YouTube instead of the notes for her current case. Whatever – another cheating husband. He’ll still be cheating tomorrow. What Jessica really needs to know is what the hell k1 means.

            Knit 1. Of course. Stupid. She drinks. Refills her glass. Grabs her laptop, returns to the couch, and picks up the pattern book.

* * *

             “What were you doing last night?”

            Jessica rushes past Malcolm, shoving the slip of paper deep into her pocket as she goes. “Nothing.”  
  
            “Didn’t sound like nothing. Sounded like you punched a hole in the wall.”  
  
            “I saw a spider.” She pushes past him into the elevator and holds out a hand so he can’t join her.

            Malcolm stands strong against the elevator doors closing between them. “Is that why you were yelling so much?”

            “It was a big spider.”

            Doors close. The elevator descends. Jessica releases the white-knuckle grip around the contents of her pocket. She pulls it out to check: little crumpled, but otherwise, the label she tore from the ball of yarn is legible. Someone at the store will know what to do with it. 

* * *

 

            The two balls of yarn cost an arm and a fucking leg, but Jessica returns home, grabs a glass of whiskey, and hunkers down on the couch to get to work. The tangled snarl of fabric finally looks like something, and the edges aren’t pulling so much. She’s finally got the tension or whatever right. She goes to pick up her glass of whiskey, but then she has to do another stitch. And another. And another. And by the time she finally takes a drink, the lights have gone low in the apartment and her lap is filled with a sheet of plush knitting.

* * *

 

            If Malcolm notices, he doesn’t say anything, but then again, Jessica doesn’t give him a chance.

            Trish, however, has plenty of time to make conversation. “That’s a nice scarf,” she says, almost immediately. “Looks new.”

            Jessica hunches up her shoulders, burying her face inside the garment. The tail from where she stitched the scarf ends together tickles her ear. Damn, she needs to stop by the yarn store on her way back to the apartment and pick up one of those giant sewing needles, apparently. Or a crochet hook. The internet said those would work too.

            “Where’d you get it?” Trish asks.

            “I found it,” Jessica says, and immediately changes the subject.

            When she stops at the yarn store that night, she picks up the sewing needle. “And I’ll take three more of the stuff I bought before,” she adds. “In gray. No, wait, in white.”

* * *

 

            Three days and another hole in the wall later, Jessica knocks on Trish’s apartment door. It’s late. Late enough that Trish answers in her pyjamas, and she’s still rubbing sleep out of her eyes when Jessica shoves the finished scarf at her.

            “I found another one,” Jessica says.  

            Trish blinks, running her hands over the fabric. Blood rushes into Jessica’s cheeks. She needs a drink. Jesus, did she even have one tonight? She came home from catching another cheating husband and got pretty much straight to work on finishing. “The tension’s better on this one,” she finds herself explaining. “Stitching’s a little more consistent. If the end pops out, don’t tug on it. Whole thing’ll probably come undone.”  
  
            Oh, fuck, now Trish has got her doe eyes going. “Uh…thanks, Jess.”

            Jessica nods, walking away. “Yeah, don’t mention it.”

* * *

             She returns home to whiskey and research and somehow ends up on the We Are Knitters website scrolling through kits. She wakes up lying on her desk and lifts her face out of the puddle of drool to see a receipt on her screen.

            “God damn it.” Jessica closes her laptop. She buries her face in her hands, breathing, wondering for the millionth time what in the fuck is wrong with her. Now she has to learn what a cable is and how to stitch it.

* * *

 

            Malcolm is just as bewildered as Trish when Jessica marches up to him and shoves the length of forest green stitching at him. He leaves his keys dangling in his apartment door to grab hold of the scarf, his fingers playing over the braid running from one end of the garment to the other. Jessica winces when he passes over the mistakes she’s made. “I got some of them backward, okay?” Lucky they even turned out at all with how tightly she was pulling. Fucking tension is the worst.

            “This is really beautiful,” Malcolm says.

            Jessica scoffs and walks away. His thanks hits the space between her shoulder blades and threatens to knock the wind out of her. “Don’t mention it.”

* * *

            The woman at the yarn store stares at Jess from behind horn-rimmed glasses, her face impassive but expectant. Jessica scans the aisles of yarn, not sure at all where to begin, only that she doesn’t want another kit. This one, she wants to build from scratch. This one, she wants to be a challenge.

            “How much to make a sweater?” Jessica asks. “A hoodie?”

            “Depends on the size,” the woman replies, gathering several binders out from under the counter. She starts flipping through patterns, finally spinning one to face Jessica. “This one is fairly simple. Do you know the measurements?”

            “Big,” Jessica says. “Really big.”

* * *

 

            The days pass in a blur of adulterers and scammers followed by nights on the couch working through rows and rows of stitches. The front and the back are a struggle to get the same size, but then come the sleeves. Jessica’s never knitted on a round before, and she can’t figure out why. It is so much easier to keep her stitches even when she’s going around in circles than when she’s moving in a straight line.

            She fucks up the hood and goes back to the knitting store for another ball only to realize it’s about three a.m. That she’s been working for hours. Her head’s pounding from lack of sleep and lack of liquor. The last drink she remembers having was last night. Or the night before? And the shop door’s locked and sealed behind a grate.

            Jessica checks the street and finds herself alone. She dips into the alley along the side of the building and picks the lock on the side door.

            The store is warm and quiet and smells like her mom’s hope chest. Jessica grabs two balls of the yarn she needs and leaves a handful of bills on the counter before slipping out as discretely as she came in.

            She forgets about drinking the second she arrives home, settling in to work instead.

* * *

             “Here.”  
  
            Luke unfolds the sweater. It’s a gnarled mess in places, especially the seams along the shoulders, but that yarn feels like a dream and cost her a fuck tonne and the lady at the yarn store gives her weird looks now so he better like it.

            “What’s this?” Luke asks.

            “A birthday present.”

            “My birthday was six months ago.”  
  
            “Merry Christmas, then.”  
  
            “That’s over a month away.”      
  
            “Fine! Happy Thanksgiving, Jesus!” She looks to find Luke smiling at her. God damn it, she needs a drink.

            “This is really nice, Jess. Thank you.”

            “Yeah,” Jessica flexes her hands, stiff from all the work she’s been doing. “You’re welcome.”

* * *

 

            She tries socks next: first, a test pair for Trish in a powder blue, then a second pair in cerulean for Claire. The fineness of the thread lets her play around with the cabling, and instead of a braid, Jess makes waves up the cuff of the sock. The bamboo yarn slides so gently through Claire’s fingers when Jessica delivers them – this time at a reasonable hour.

            “I never did give you a proper thank you,” Jessica says with a shrug.

            Claire smiles. Jessica can clearly see the sweater she knitted for Luke hanging on the coat rack over Claire’s shoulder.

            “Guess this makes us even,” Claire replies. “Thank you.”

* * *

 

            The shopkeeper beams and Jessica wants to burn the whole place to the ground. “Red,” is all she says, and she walks out with three balls of fine yarn crimson enough for the Devil himself.

* * *

             The hat doesn’t take nearly as long to whip up except for one detail, and Jessica takes a different approach when giving it to Matt. Apparently throwing things makes people suspicious about gifts, so Jessica just shoves the beanie on Murdock’s thick skull and pulls it down over his cold-reddened ears. “Merry Christmas.”  
  
            “It’s Easter.”

            “Then Happy Easter, smartass.”  
  
            Murdock runs his hands over the hat. “You made this?”

            Jessica doesn’t answer that. She reaches up and plays around with the cuff on the base of the hat. “I’m sick of you borrowing my damn scarf all the time.” Not that he’s done it since she upgraded to her new one. “Now, when you need to hide that dumb face of yours –“ she folds down the cuff as Murdock tugs off his glasses. The hat comes to completely cover most of his face, revealing the two little devil horns she knitted and stitched into place like a God damn knitting champ. “- You just do this and become the devil. I even put on your ears.”  
  
            “They’re horns.”

            “Whatever.” Jessica snarks. She catches Murdock beaming at her from under his hand-knitted devil mask, and Jessica regrets every decision she’s ever made in her entire life because she’s too busy looking at how chapped his bare hands are wrapped around the handle of his cane.           

* * *

 

            “Mittens,” Jessica tells the woman at the yarn store. “I’m making mittens.”  

* * *

 

            The first pair are a trial run in crimson that Jessica leaves on Matt’s rooftop. She whips up a second in emerald green, this time trying her hand at a pattern stretching over the fingers the kind of looks like a dragon with its wings unfurled. The third pair are smaller, thinner, this time in red and gold.  

            No more knitting in straight lines. Always on the round. Everything’s so much easier on the round.

            Jessica means to drop them off and leave, but no. Danny’s gotta invite her inside the dojo, and they’re just about to have tea, and won’t she stay for a cup? Jessica sits at the table and makes the necessary small-talk with him and Colleen. She clutches the mittens in her pocket, palm sweating over the yarn, desperate to be rid of them, but she doesn’t want the questions or the thanks or the acknowledgement. Winter’s over now. What the hell do they need mittens for anyways?

            “Here,” Jessica says, throwing the mittens into the middle of the table. She finishes off the rest of her tea and rises, prepared to leave.

            Colleen already has her hands on them, her pair and Danny’s. “These are beautiful,” she says.

            “Did you make these?” Danny asks.

            Jessica holds up a hand. “Do not hug me. I do not hug.”

            The corners of Danny’s mouth curve into a smile. He’s hugging her so hard in his mind that she can feel it happening in the real world.

 

* * *

 

Happy reading!


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